


to see with the heart (he is simply beautiful)

by hakyeonni



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, artist!hakyeon, camboy!ravi, platonic wontaek, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 03:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12673917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakyeonni/pseuds/hakyeonni
Summary: of all the things that wonshik expected when he signed up for a life drawing class, meeting hakyeon—possibly the most beautiful man he's ever seen—was not one of them.





	to see with the heart (he is simply beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [я вижу сердцем (как он прекрасен)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922842) by [jana_nox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jana_nox/pseuds/jana_nox)



> this was written for [aufest](https://twitter.com/kpop_aufest), which is a Russian kpop au writing fest. I'm not Russian and I don't speak it (regrettably) but one of my friends is the admin of the competition and wanted me to participate, so she roped in some friends to help translate, and here we are!

“You can’t afford a car, you know.”

It’s Taekwoon in his ear—it’s always Taekwoon in his ear, because he _lives_ to annoy Wonshik—and he resists the urge to elbow him, somehow, although he’s not sure why he does it. “That’s not why I’m looking,” he sighs, eyes flicking over the bulletin board that’s tacked up in front of the little courtyard of their student accommodation.

There’s dozens of fliers there, some worse for wear, all pressed in lovingly with various multicoloured thumbtacks, advertising everything under the sun: ‘Level 2 Criminology Textbooks for sale, good price, lightly used’, ‘2002 Toyota Camry, many miles but still runs well, $6,000 ONO’, ‘LOST: rose gold iPhone @ uni bar Saturday night, $$$ reward!’, ‘Need help to pass that English course? I’ve got you covered! Straight A student with high average mark available for tutoring on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday nights.’ It’s sort of a habit of Wonshik’s to stop and glance over every so often, just in case there’s anything that catches his eye; once he’d picked up an xbox and a couple of games for a really good price, so he’s a firm believer in the bulletin board system. Taekwoon, though? Not so much.

“Come on,” Taekwoon moans, and then, when Wonshik doesn’t move, huffs. “What are you even looking for? There’s nothing good here. It’s just people selling stuff and looking for hookups.” He points at the offending flyer, somewhat amusingly advertising ‘a good time’. “Maybe you should take that one.”

Wonshik resists the urge to smile—because that would only fuel Taekwoon further—and instead elbows him. The noise that Taekwoon makes is so satisfying that he nearly turns to see the damage he’s done, but something stops him—one of the flyers. It’s set in a corner, sort of high up, almost like it doesn’t want to be seen, and it’s printed on creamy white paper that’s buttery to the touch when Wonshik balances on the balls of his feet to run his fingers over it. “Check out this one.”

Taekwoon instantly stops pretending to be wounded to narrow in on the flyer, and his eyebrows nearly disappear into the stratosphere when he reads the words printed there. “Life drawing?”

“You should sign up.” Wonshik ignores the punch that Taekwoon throws his way and jabs him back, grinning. “I’m sure they’d love to draw someone with noodle proportions like yourself.”

“Me? You’re the one who takes your clothes off for a living. _You_ should sign up. It’s more legitimate than your day job,” Taekwoon teases, but immediately winces when he sees the hurt on Wonshik’s face. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”

It’s not like this is a surprise; the only person who knows about Wonshik’s chosen profession apart from Taekwoon is Hongbin, and he just doesn’t talk about it at all, goes red when it’s brought up. Taekwoon is transparent with his distaste, which is disheartening but expected. Wonshik’s used to it. Being a camboy pays the bills and pays them well, but it’s not to everyone’s tastes, nor is it run-of-the-mill. But what’s normal, anyway?

“It’s fine,” he sighs, and turns back to the flier. _Pays well_ is written at the bottom and that makes him perk up—he is shameless about his love for money, and it would be nice to have some cash on the side. “Do you think I should sign up for real, though?”

Taekwoon senses the seriousness of the question and tilts his head to the side, thinking about it. “If you want to. It might be easy for you, because you’re already used to being, ah, naked. I don’t know if I’d be able to do it.” He shrugs. “And it says it pays well. I say go for it.”

Content he has his best friend’s blessing—although secretly wondering when he started caring what Taekwoon thinks at all—he tears off one of the strips at the bottom of the flier, with the number on, and pockets it. “Cool. Alright, come on. Let’s get that assignment done. I think Hongbin has sent through his part already.”

“Fucking group assignments,” Taekwoon mutters, but he follows Wonshik into their building diligently.

//

For all Wonshik’s consideration, he doesn’t ring the number on the little strip of paper right away. He thinks about it when he’s lying in bed listening to music, fingering the paper with his mind a million ways away. He thinks about it when he’s brushing his teeth, staring at his too-long hair in the mirror and knowing he needs a cut (he’d dyed it a shocking crimson a few months ago on a whim and had kept doing it because he kind of likes it, although his roots are showing now). He thinks about it when he next sees Taekwoon, who asks about it. Considering what he does it really shouldn’t be this big of a deal. Taekwoon was right about one thing; he is used to being naked in front of people. But being naked in front of people on the internet and being naked in front of students who go to their (relatively small) unversity, people he could very well see around campus over the next few years, is another thing entirely.

In the end he calls the number after he’s just finished weighing the pros and cons over in his mind. It’s less of a definite decision to do it and more of him getting sick of arguing with himself, and he entertains himself with thoughts of the money as he listens to the phone ring. “Hello?” the disembodied female voice at the end of the line says when they pick up.

“Hi,” he blurts, and then blushes for no reason at all. “Uh, my name is Kim Wonshik, I’m calling about the life drawing flyer? You were looking for models?”

The person at the end of the line brightens. “Oh, hello! I’m the teacher for the class, Gyuri. Do you have any experience with modelling for life drawing?”

“No, but I have modeled online before.” He clears his throat and closes his eyes. “Naked. It was an… art thing.”

There’s a pause where they both consider that lie before Gyuri continues, and Wonshik slumps with relief. “Fantastic. Most of the applicants I’ve spoken to have no experience with that sort of thing, so that does help. How tall are you? And what do you weigh? And what’s your body type?”

Wonshik rattles off the figures, pausing on body type but eventually coming up with “lean but muscled” which he hopes describes him well enough, and Gyuri seems satisfied with that. “Do you want to come in next week? What days work for you?”

By the time Wonshik hangs up, he stares at his phone somewhat blankly. That had been easier than he’d thought, even though he did have to lie about his camming. He’s sort of used to that by now, but he’s sure Gyuri saw through it anyway; she seems pretty savvy. Oh well. As much as he probably should be, he isn’t ashamed of what he does. It’s fun and it pays well and he can work whatever hours he likes, something his contemporaries don’t have the luxury of—if looking at it objectively, it’s clear he gets the better deal out of this. He just has to jerk himself off on camera a couple of hours a week. And this life drawing thing? This doesn’t even involve any jerking off, so it’s a win-win if you ask Wonshik.

He throws his phone on the bed and heads towards the door, figuring he should find Taekwoon and dig him out from his mountains of homework. Lord knows he can afford to buy him a drink or two.

//

Even though their university is small, Wonshik has never been to the fine arts campus, which is a bus ride away. He spends that entire bus ride blasting music as loud as he can and trying to tamp down the nerves in his stomach, telling himself he’s being ridiculous. Because he _is_. This should not be a big deal at all, but it is, and it’s this that’s slowly driving him insane. By the time he gets off the bus his hands are shaking slightly and he feels like an idiot—not least because he has no idea where to go and ends up having to ask a passerby for directions.

This part of the campus is old, older than where he goes to class, and he admires the buildings as he ambles along. Having Hongbin prattle away for hours on end about needing to appreciate Victorian-era architecture has given him a somewhat healthy appreciation for these types of things—just like how, thanks to Taekwoon, his maths skills have improved greatly, and now the other two can now talk history with him thanks to him banging on about it endlessly—and it lifts his spirits. He tries not to think of what he’s about to do and wishes Hongbin was here with his camera instead; the way the dappled shade falls on the facade of the biggest building is gorgeous. In fact he’s too busy admiring that to pay the slightest bit of attention to where he’s going, and turns to face front right as he bumps into someone hard enough to send them both sprawling to the ground.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then his eyes widen as he sees that not only is the stranger wincing and rubbing his head, he’s dropped his pencil case and sketchbook on the ground, too. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry.”

He shifts onto his knees and starts shoving pencils frantically back into the pencil case, which is shaped like a banana. “It’s fine,” the stranger says, grabbing his sketchbook and holding it close to his chest (Wonshik doesn’t miss the flash of rainbow as he does; a little sticker pressed on the front with care).

Wonshik finally gets a proper look at him, and a jolt goes through him when they make eye contact. The stranger is gorgeous, with golden skin that’s glowing in the sunlight, hair falling into his eyes, a shirt that’s unbuttoned enough to show a sliver of smooth chest. Wonshik is so entranced he doesn’t notice the stranger studying him, eyebrows furrowed; he’s completely lost in his eyes, and sways closer, unable to help himself. “I’m Wonshik,” he says, brilliantly.

“Hakyeon,” the stranger replies, standing up and offering Wonshik a hand. “Sorry about that. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Hakyeon’s hand is warm and soft, and Wonshik’s stomach does a funny flip-flop as he hauls him to his feet. “Neither. I was looking at the building. Ah, do you know how to get to room 503?”

If he could take his words back and start again he would; not only is he stuffing this up, Hakyeon is still looking at him—his eyes glancing over his body, lingering on the tattoos visible on his arms—like he recognises him. Or maybe it’s just a look of disdain, because he keeps saying the stupidest things. _I was looking at the building? Good one, Wonshik_ , he tells himself, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t say anything else stupid, like _you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen_. “I’m going there next. I can take you, if you’d like,” Hakyeon offers after a beat of silence.

“Oh. That would be nice.” Wonshik realises belatedly that he’s still holding the banana pencil case and hands it back to Hakyeon as they start walking. “I don’t come to this campus much. Or ever.”

Hakyeon looks at him strangely. “But aren’t you taking the life drawing class?” He seems to take in that Wonshik has no backpack or sketchbook and raises an eyebrow. “Or are you just checking it out?”

“I think I’m your model,” Wonshik explains, and bites the inside of his cheek as Hakyeon’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” Hakyeon says, and then clears his throat. “Oh.”

If Wonshik isn’t reading into things too much—and it’s entirely possible, since he’s never been attracted to anyone like he is to Hakyeon before—Hakyeon is being weird. It’s almost like he knows Wonshik from somewhere; maybe they met at a uni party or something, although Wonshik finds it hard to believe he would ever forget someone as beautiful as _that_. That being said, he has gotten blackout drunk more than once. Maybe they took classes together? But again, Hakyeon is hard to forget. Even the way he walks is mesmerising, like he’s gliding over the ground; Wonshik feels like he’s plodding in comparison. He must be a dancer or something.

(He doesn’t want to entertain the possibility that Hakyeon knows him from camming—it’s impossible, anyway, so there’s no point dwelling on it. No point at all. Even though it makes dread curl in his stomach, low and snarly.)

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Wonshik keeps trying to look at anything but Hakyeon—the students hurrying past them, nearly all of them with tattoos and piercings; the architecture, equally as magnificent from the inside as from the out; the cracks on the pavement. It doesn’t work, though. He keeps sneaking glances at Hakyeon out of the corner of his eye, trying to not let Hakyeon see he’s doing it and probably failing, unable to help himself anyway. He is magnificent, and Wonshik isn’t used to feeling subpar, but he certainly does as they walk along together.

“Here we go,” Hakyeon says as they halt in front of a classroom, entirely nondescript and boring. He turns to Wonshik with a wide smile. “I’m sure Gyuri will want to talk to you. She’ll be inside. She’s always early.” As he talks, Wonshik realises there’s something about him that’s decidedly more mature than his peers—he speaks like he knows what he’s talking about, all the time, and it’s fascinating. He must be older than Wonshik. Maybe around Taekwoon’s age?

“Right,” Wonshik replies belatedly, realising Hakyeon’s been waiting for him to say something. “Thanks for walking me.”

Hakyeon shrugs and smiles, all the weirdness from earlier gone. He just looks like any other friendly student, and Wonshik wonders if he was imagining it. “No problem.”

He enters the classroom without further ado, because as much as he’d love to hang around and talk to Hakyeon some more he is also looking forward to the cash he’ll get at the end of this hour. The classroom inside is familiar except for the easels scattered around the room in lieu of desks—although when he looks he can see those are there too, just shoved to the back haphazardly. There’s a whiteboard at the front, and a computer, but more importantly there’s a black sofa, the leather cracked and worn but clean, and Wonshik’s stomach flips when he sees it. A woman moves out from behind the computer to peer at them, breaking out into a smile when she sees who it is. “Hakyeon! And who’s this?”

“I’m Wonshik.” He strides forward and offers her his hand. He’d been worried about her being older, but she’s young, maybe Hakyeon’s age—she must be a postgrad student. That makes him feel a little better. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ah, my model!” Gyuri shakes his hand as she blatantly looks him up and down, pursing her lips in judgement. “Perfect. Lovely to meet you, Wonshik. If you’ll follow me to the supply room, we’ll get you into a robe before all the students arrive.”

Hakyeon is already setting up his sketchbook at one of the easels as Wonshik obediently follows her to a door he didn’t notice at the back of the classroom. He doesn’t even look up to watch him go, even though Wonshik is watching him the whole time.

The supply room turns out to be bigger than he’d been expecting. There’s shelves lining the wall with all sorts of arty things on them—from here Wonshik can see tubes of paint, rows of paint brushes, wire, clay, and a whole bunch of other things he has no name for—but there’s also a table, four little cubbies and, when he shuts the door behind him, a black bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. “Are you good to get started?” Gyuri asks with a smile that’s meant to be comforting, and it sort of would be if Wonshik’s mind wasn’t a million miles away. “Once you’re in the classroom again I’ll direct you to take off your robe and then you can just pose however you want. But try to think… dynamically. Think of what would be interesting to draw. I’ll ask you to change poses a few times, so just be prepared for that. Use the timer on your phone.”

It’s all a bit overwhelming, but Wonshik smiles back at her and tries to look confident. It’s just a job. It’s just for the money. The only intimidating thing about it now is the fact that Hakyeon is out there, and he’s still a perfect stranger, but he’s the most beautiful perfect stranger Wonshik has ever seen and he’s intrigued. “Alright,” he replies, and she goes.

He takes a deep breath in and checks his phone. No messages, although he’d sort of expected that; it’s still early, which means Taekwoon will be asleep and Hongbin will be in class. No doubt once they can text they will—they knew about today and were curious about it. Well, Hongbin was. Taekwoon paid as much attention to it as he did to anything that wasn’t maths. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and lets his eyes fall on a tube of red paint, the cap slightly open. No point hesitating. He has a job to do, and he’s going to do it.

He gets undressed quickly and pulls the robe on, clutching it tight around himself and waiting until he hears the knock. It doesn’t take long at all, and he holds his breath as he opens the door and walks out.

As it turns out, it’s very anticlimactic—there’s a small group of maybe fifteen students there, some with their sketchbooks propped up on the easels, other nursing them in their laps. A few of them look up at him and offer him friendly smiles. Hakyeon isn’t one of them; he’s sharpening a pencil with a very intense look on his face, and Wonshik raises an eyebrow as he walks over to the sofa. “Everyone, this is Wonshik,” Gyuri says, and everyone murmurs hello. “Alright, Wonshik. Let’s get this show on the road.”

He drops the robe—managing to not look at anyone at all, especially not Hakyeon—and folds himself onto the sofa immediately in the pose he’d thought of while he was loitering in the storage cupboard, focusing on that and instead of on the way everyone is now staring at him. He’s lying down sort of on his side with his legs pressed together pointing towards the class, one arm wrapped around the front of his face, the other stretched loosely past his head. This way the line of his ribs and hips is on show, as is a stretch of his thigh; the students are all arranged in different positions around the room, but he knows that from where Hakyeon is sitting he’ll be able to see a sliver of his face and a good part of his bright red hair peeking up from behind his arms.

And then he closes his eyes and tries to relax.

It takes a while, but when nothing happens—no one laughs at his nakedness, or asks about his tattoos, or even tries to talk to him—he finds himself taking deeper breaths, the weight that was on his shoulders slowly dissipating. There’s nothing but the sound of Gyuri’s heels clacking on the linoleum as she moves from student to student and the gentle hiss of pencils on paper. Even though there’s fifteen pairs of eyes on him, there’s only one pair that matters to him, and lying there with his eyes closed he tries to picture what Hakyeon looks like as he draws. Is his brow furrowed in concentration? Is his tongue peeking out from behind his lips? Or is he completely serene?

As it turns out, Gyuri asks him to change poses almost immediately—it’s only been about four minutes since he laid down—and he startles out of his trance and looks straight up into Hakyeon’s eyes. His gaze is calculating, but not in a cold way. It’s measuring him up, like he’s mentally scaling Wonshik’s proportions to place them down on paper, his eyes narrowed, and it’s absurdly sexy. He manages to tamp down the odd wave of arousal that runs down his spine (of all places for him to get hard, this is probably one of the worst) and instead moves into the next pose. In this one he’s just sitting with his legs tucked up underneath him, leaning back on the sofa, fixing his eyes at a spot on the floor and just trying to breathe. More sketching. More clicking of heels. Gyuri asks him to move again and he does, stretching out and reclining on the sofa as if he’s relaxing, one arm behind his head. This time he fixes his eyes at a spot just past Hakyeon’s head, allowing him to steal glances. It’s fascinating to watch him work, his pencil flying over the paper as he puts Wonshik down.

After he’s pulled another half-dozen poses—some only for three minutes, some for ten—and has a break, during which he pulls the robe back on and sits on the sofa and tunes in to the chatter all around him, Gyuri nods at him. “This will be a fifteen minute pose. Is that alright?”

“Sure,” he replies, plugging it into his phone and settling on the sofa once more.

For this pose he tucks his knees close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and dips his head. From the class’s position he is completely exposed, but he’s now so comfortable that he doesn’t even mind. Like this he can stretch his back and close his eyes and think of the assessment he needs to do when he gets back to his room. That’s what he tries to think of, anyway. Instead he can’t get Hakyeon’s face out of his head, as many times as he tells himself that it’s idiotic. They are _strangers_. They don’t know anything about each other. But Wonshik can’t deny that he’s attracted, as much as he’d like to. He resists the urge to heave a sigh. He always did fall hard and fast for his boyfriends in the past. It always ended up in heartbreak; he loved too much, if such a thing was possible, and it’s why he’s been single for a while. That and his job. He is essentially a sex worker, and not everyone is fine with that.

Before he knows it the timer on his phone goes off and he straightens up, reaching for the robe and offering Gyuri a smile. “Well done, Wonshik,” she says, and pats him on the shoulder. “I liked your poses.”

He glows with the praise and stands up, hovering. He doesn’t know if it’s the done thing, for models to view the sketches, and right as he’s about to turn and head back to the supply room Hakyeon catches his eye and smiles, and his feet make the choice for him.

“Hey,” Hakyeon says as Wonshik approaches, his bare feet cold on the lino. “You were great. Is it your first time doing this?”

“Sort of.” Wonshik shrugs, not bothering to try and explain. “I had no idea what I was doing. It’s harder than it looks.”

Hakyeon laughs, and Wonshik is even more entranced. “Oh, yeah, I know. I did it once. I’m much better at drawing, trust me.” And then he turns in his seat and winks, and Wonshik has to grip the edge of the robe so he doesn’t fall over. “Do you wanna see?”

“Of course.”

Obligingly, Hakyeon flips his sketchbook open to the last pose that Wonshik had held, the one where he’s all curled up. Hakyeon’s drawing of him is spookily accurate, down to the letters of his tattoos—the edge of his wrist one and the one on his right bicep is visible from that angle—and perhaps Wonshik should be weirded out, since his dick is _right there_ , but instead he just touches the paper mesmerisingly. “You’re really good. It looks like me.”

“Well, I’d hope so.” Hakyeon flips the page to one of his earlier poses, where he’s all stretched out, and in this his face is visible. It’s a beautiful recreation, and his heart nearly stops in his chest. “I think I like this one the most. We haven’t drawn anyone in class with a body like yours before.”

The words could be detached, but Hakyeon looks up at Wonshik as he says them, and the inference is most definitely not detached. There’s a flicker of some fire in Hakyeon’s eyes, something that’s matched by the low curling of heat in Wonshik’s belly, and he resists the urge to reach out and touch the older man on the face. There are other students all around them, and Wonshik is naked under the robe, for fuck’s sake, but the intimacy of the look in Hakyeon’s eyes staggers him completely. Attraction, it’s attraction, and his heart soars—

“Uh, I better get going,” he hears himself saying as he takes a step back. Half of him is saying _good, this boy is trouble_ and the other half is screaming _what the fuck!_ but it’s too late, and he catches the momentary confusion on Hakyeon’s face before he smooths it out again.

“Of course.” This time his smile is genial but generic, and Wonshik resists the urge to bang his head against the wall. “Will I see you again?”

Now this he doesn’t even have to think about. “Yeah, I enjoyed it. If Gyuri will have me, of course.”

“I think she will. She seemed to like you. And your body is interesting.” He pauses, and Wonshik catches the hint of pink creeping up his neck. “To draw, I mean.”

“Of course,” Wonshik echoes, and turns away to head to the supply room, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

//

He doesn’t even stop off at his room once he arrives back at their building. Instead he detours next door, to room 304, and starts banging on the door. And continues banging on the door. He bangs for long enough that his hand starts to hurt before it finally swings open to reveal Taekwoon there, dressed in nothing but a pair of pyjama pants slung low on his hips, his pale chest exposed to the sunlight. “What the—” he starts, and squints. “Wonshik.”

 _What a pity you’re not gay_ , Wonshik sighs internally before shouldering his way inside. “Taekwoon. Your room is a tip.”

Taekwoon doesn’t bother to reply to that. He simply stalks past Wonshik back to his bed, falling into it and wrapping the blankets around himself so he’s a burrito, only his face visible. “Yours isn’t much better,” he mutters, and yawns. “Why are you up so early? Why are you _here?_ ”

“It’s one pm,” he points out, “on a Tuesday.”

“Tuesday, Tuesday,” Taekwoon mumbles like he’s incanting some sort of spell. Wonshik waits; after a few seconds Taekwoon’s eyes snap open and he half-sits up. “Wait, Tuesday? Didn’t you have the nude modelling thing today? How did it go?”

 _There it is_. “It went well,” he says, sitting down on Taekwoon’s desk chair and spinning idly around. He points a finger at one of Taekwoon’s precious movie posters and wiggles it—it’s the one for _The Silence of the Lambs_ , his favourite movie—and raises his eyebrow. “That one is falling down, you know.”

Taekwoon throws a pillow at his head that he only just avoids in time. “Who cares about the poster. What happened in art class?” He pauses and cocks his head to the side, and even though he’s still half asleep Wonshik can tell he’s picked up on something. “Wait, did you meet someone? Is that why you’re being weird?”

“I’m not being weird.”

“Yes you are.” Taekwoon sits up properly and throws his other pillow. This one hits Wonshik squarely in the side of the head and he topples dramatically to the floor, groaning like it actually hurts. “Stop being an idiot! Just tell me what happened before I have to beat it out of you.”

“I ran into someone. Literally ran into them outside the building. He’s the most…” He sighs dramatically and clutches Taekwoon’s pillow close to his chest. “He’s gorgeous. Seriously, Taekwoon, you have no idea. And—anyway. I thought for a second he recognised me.”

“From camming?”

Wonshik nods. “Yeah, from camming. But… I don’t see how he could have. And then he stopped being weird. I think he was… flirting with me.”

Taekwoon seems to think this is hilarious and can’t stop grinning. “What, with your dick out? While he was drawing you? In _class?_ ”

“No, for fuck’s sake!” Wonshik throws the pillow and it hits Taekwoon in the face with such force he grunts. “Afterwards. But… I don’t know. What if I was just reading into it? What if he was just being friendly? He’s so pretty, Taekwoon.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Taekwoon has never been particularly interested in the ins and outs of Wonshik’s love life—or anyone’s love life, really, including his own. He’d confided in Wonshik one night that he thought he might be aromantic, which led to Wonshik hiding in the bathroom to google the phrase before coming back out and hugging him, trying to say that he understood what it was like to be different. They haven’t spoken of it since, but Wonshik’s never forgotten. “If you like him, go for it.”

There’s a multitude of reasons why Wonshik should not just ‘go for it’, starting and ending with he doesn’t even know if Hakyeon’s gay (he can’t get the flash of the rainbow sticker on his sketchbook out of his head, though). Not to mention that Wonshik is a sex worker, and he’s also a model for Hakyeon’s life drawing class, which means Hakyeon’s seen him at his most vulnerable. And the last three relationships he’s had have all ended terribly. So it’s not as easy as just ‘going for it’, but he appreciates Taekwoon’s support, even if it’s reasonably obtuse. “Thanks, Taekwoon,” he replies dryly. “Do you wanna get lunch with me before your next class?”

“Sure. Are you gonna do it again?”

“Lunch?” Wonshik looks up at Taekwoon in confusion, who’s yanking a t-shirt over his head.

Taekwoon just rolls his eyes, but even that movement is a good look on him. “No. The modelling thing.”

“Yeah,” Wonshik replies, standing up. “It pays _really_ well. And Hakyeon’s there. And I actually kind of enjoy it. It’s, you know, freeing.”

Taekwoon just gives him a weird look, which he supposes is justified, considering his job. But he doesn’t think what he does could ever be called beautiful. Looking at Hakyeon's drawings of him, though… There was something about them that was bigger than him, like he might just be immortalised like that, and it was fascinating to see. “That means you’re buying lunch,” Taekwoon says happily, ruffling Wonshik’s hair as he walks past him towards his wardrobe.

Wonshik just grumbles, but his mind is very far away, on the way Hakyeon had looked at him, eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

//

As it turns out, Wonshik doesn’t get the opportunity to model again for a couple of weeks—his teachers all decide to throw assignments at him at the same time so he becomes chained to his desk, churning out essay after essay and living off energy drinks as he goes. He doesn’t see much of Taekwoon or Hongbin, either, because they’re all in the same predicament. Right before falling into bed every night he’ll turn on his webcam and make some money for an hour or two, and the comments he gets from his regulars always brighten his day. Taekwoon might not think much of what he does, but he really does enjoy it; perhaps he should be ashamed of that, but he just cannot be bothered.

When the sea of assessments passes and he once again finds himself on the bus heading to the other campus, the nerves find him and hit him all at once and he gasps, earning a glance from the older man across the aisle. He’s still barely awake—a bender with Taekwoon and Hongbin and Hongbin’s newest adoptee into their social circle, a boy from his Architecture and History class called Sanghyuk, had ensured he got very little sleep last night—and so hasn’t really had a chance to process what this means. He’s modelling naked _again_ —fine. He can deal with that part. He’s seeing Hakyeon _again_ —and it’s this that he doesn’t know what to do with.

This time he doesn’t even bother admiring the buildings, he’s in such a hurry to get to class. He’s early by the time he reaches the classroom, but Gyuri is already set up inside, and she smiles at him and beckons him closer. “Welcome, Wonshik! I have an idea for today’s class.”

“My interest is piqued,” he replies as he follows her to the supply room.

He’d been expecting her to ask him to take his clothes off, but this time there isn’t even a robe. Instead, laid out carefully on the table, is hanbok. Not just standard hanbok, either, this is the full get-up—he recognises the red overcoat as being what the King used to wear, and there’s even shoes and accessories. “Hang on. I thought this was all about modelling naked?”

Gyuri smiles indulgently. “Most of the time it is, but it’s also good to see how fabric moves and drapes. Hanbok is great for this.” She gets a wistful expression. “So many folds! The way it drapes is just… Anyway.” She shakes her head and pats him on the shoulder. “Do you know how to tie all this?”

If it had just been pants and the blouse he would have said yes, but he just shakes his head. “Not really.”

“No problem! I’ll get Hakyeon to come and help you. He works in a hanbok shop.”

Before he can even begin to process that—Hakyeon? Hakyeon dressing him? Hakyeon works in a hanbok shop?—the door is swinging closed behind her and he has to lean on the table because his head is spinning slightly. All this time he’d been mentally preparing himself to pose naked, for Hakyeon to see him naked again, and now he’s going to be all covered up. All covered up in fabric put on him by Hakyeon’s hands. He shivers.

There’s a knock at the door, and when he calls for the knocker to come in, Hakyeon sticks his head around. “Hey,” he says, and breaks into a smile when he sees Wonshik. There it is again—that weird sense of warmth, of familiarity, spreading beneath his breastbone. _It’s impossible_ , he tells himself. _We’re still strangers_. But he can’t deny that he thinks he sees some of that on Hakyeon’s face, too, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Are you ready to get dressed?”

“Yeah,” he says, and pulls his shirt over his head without much preamble (it’s not like there’s any point). “Sorry to have to bother you with this. I’ve only worn hanbok a few times.”

Hakyeon laughs as Wonshik steps out of his jeans, and the sound is warm, pleasant, and Wonshik wants to hear it more. “It’s no problem. I could do this in my sleep.”

“Gyuri told me you worked in a hanbok shop.” Wonshik takes the pants off the table and steps into them—this, at least, he can manage. He reaches for the shirt, too, but Hakyeon approaches and swats his hands away. “That’s really cool. Do your parents own it?”

There’s only a slight hesitation as Hakyeon helps him into the shirt, and Wonshik can see him staring at his chest. “No, I got a job there in high school and it just kind of… stuck.” He smooths the front of the shirt over Wonshik’s chest and looks up to grin at him. “I’m good at talking people into buying things.”

He could probably sell a glass of water to a drowning man, but Wonshik doesn’t say that out loud. Instead he just smiles, hoping it comes off as flirty but knowing it probably comes off as goofy instead. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

His tone of voice is more sultry than he’d intended it to be—he knows what his voice sounds like when he takes it down low like that, because it drives his clients _wild_ —and he sees Hakyeon’s eyes widen briefly in surprise before he looks up, straight at Wonshik’s lips. _Christ_. “And what do you do for work?” Hakyeon asks a moment later, finishing the ties of the shirt and pressing the neat bow against Wonshik’s breastbone gently.

Ah, he knew the time to lie would be coming, but he didn’t expect it quite so soon. He’s not even accustomed to it, because the only people he’s close to know. He fixes his eyes at a spot on the wall as Hakyeon fetches the red overcoat and slides his arms in. “I’m between jobs,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant and a bit put-out. “But I’ve done some modelling in the past.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hakyeon murmurs as he arranges the overcoat just-so. Their faces are so close together that Wonshik can see every imperfection on Hakyeon’s skin—or rather, complete lack of them. His skin is smooth and golden and Wonshik wants to touch so badly that his fingers actually twitch. “You have a certain air about you, you know?”

Wonshik doesn’t know, but he nods. Fake it til you make it, right? “And what air is that?” he asks, aware he’s being blatant with his flirting now, but somehow not caring.

Hakyeon pauses as he ties the last ribbon, and when he looks up at Wonshik his gaze is open and unfettered by any guardedness—and there’s want in his eyes, the same want that Wonshik had seen last time, after class. His heart stops in his chest, he swears it does; Hakyeon must hear it. “An air of someone who knows what he wants,” Hakyeon whispers, and sways a little closer. Wonshik stares at his lips, unable to help himself. They look so _soft_. “An air of someone who gets what he wants.”

“Do you recognise that in me because that’s what you are?” Wonshik breathes, tilting his head forward slightly. If any of them moves they’ll be kissing. His heart hasn’t stopped, now; it’s racing so hard he can feel it pounding in his head.

For a moment they stand there, suspended in the moment. Wonshik thinks that Hakyeon’s really going to do it, he’s really going to kiss him—but then he pulls away and pats Wonshik on the chest, smiling widely with a mischievous glint in his eye. “All done,” he says, too-loudly to disguise the blush that’s creeping up his neck, but Wonshik spots it. “Come on. Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

Obligingly, Wonshik jams the hat on his head, stuffs his feet into the shoes, and follows in Hakyeon’s footsteps, unable to hide the smile on his face.

//

This time around it’s hard to stay focused on what Gyuri tells him to do, and not just because he’s swaddled in so many layers of clothing he feels heavy—she keeps having to rush in and adjust them just-so when he poses. No, what’s more pressing at the moment is the way he and Hakyeon keep making eye contact. He swears it’s incidental. One moment he’s staring at the wall, face impassive like he was told, and then he’s looking at Hakyeon looking at him over his sketchbook and then they both blush. It’s like something was unlocked earlier in the storage room; the air is pregnant with so many possibilities they’re choking Wonshik as he sits there, making his heart race even though he is completely sedentary. Eventually he settles for staring at a spot on the wall where someone has affixed a faded poster of a kitten hanging from a branch with the caption _Hang in there!_ It’s the most cliche thing he’s ever seen, and it’s enough of a distraction that it keeps him from looking at Hakyeon, as much as he’d like to. He concentrates so hard when he draws that he gets a cute little wrinkle between his eyebrows—and it’s when Wonshik notices this that he realises, perhaps belatedly, that he’s too far gone.

His poses today are quite different from last time; he tries to pose in ways that make the fabric fall in interesting ways, meaning that by the time Gyuri calls the class to a close his thighs are aching somewhat. He straightens up and smiles at everyone, trying to not let his eyes linger on Hakyeon, before she’s on him. “Fantastic job, Wonshik! Can I get you the week after next? We have a female model next week…”

He agrees hastily and puts a reminder in his phone before turning and making a beeline for Hakyeon. He’s packing away his pencils in that banana pencil case, but he looks up and smiles as Wonshik approaches. “Hey,” he says, and his eyes are sparkling. “Good job today. You picked some cool poses.”

The page is open to his drawing of the last pose Wonshik had pulled—a ten-minute pose where he’d reclined on the lounge, one leg stretched out in front of him, the overcoat puddling on the floor. Hakyeon has rendered him beautifully, just like last time, and he nearly reaches out and touches the drawing. “Wow,” he hums, and then takes the opportunity to put his hand on Hakyeon’s shoulder instead. “You’re really good at this.”

“Thanks.” Hakyeon beams up at him. “It’s hard doing a double major, but kinda worth it to hear you say that.”

“Oh? What’s your other major?”

Hakyeon flips the sketchbook shut and winks. “Guess.”

It’s easy—Wonshik has seen the way he moves, so self-assured and graceful, like every step he takes is purposeful and deliberate in a way others can’t relate to. He puts a hand on his chin and strokes it, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hm, I don’t know. Could it be… dance?”

“Am I that easy to read?” Hakyeon complains, but he laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. Now, come on, let’s get that hanbok off you. I’ve got an assessment to do.”

“Tell me about it,” Wonshik mutters as they head to the storage room, waving at Gyuri as they go. “I’ve got two due next week, one after the other.”

When the door closes behind Hakyeon the atmosphere changes instantly—it’s heavy, weighty, pressing in on Wonshik once again. It’s like all of a sudden now they’re alone with each other they are both acutely aware of the desire in their veins. Wonshik can hear it thudding in his chest, as real as his heartbeat, and blinks rapidly to try and clear it. _Jesus_. He knows next-to-nothing about Hakyeon, and he still wants him. He is _so_ gone.

Moving slowly, like Wonshik is a wild animal prone to spooking, Hakyeon approaches him and takes the hat off his head. It’s an intimate gesture, more intimate than anything he’s done yet, and Wonshik is rendered speechless as Hakyeon trails one hand down the side of his face, down his shoulders, over his chest to the tie at his waist holding the overcoat on. He tugs at it and in one smooth motion it falls away, leaving Wonshik in just the shirt. So many layers and yet he feels more naked than ever, standing there like this—Hakyeon is so close, and his expression is so carefully blank, that he can’t help but tremble.

“Hakyeon,” he whispers, as Hakyeon leans into him. He pulls the tie of the shirt open and splays his hands on Wonshik’s stomach, making him jump. “Hakyeon, I—”

And then they’re kissing. Wonshik has no idea who started it, but he doesn’t, cannot care. Hakyeon’s mouth is hot and wet and his lips are so fucking soft—it’s everything he’s ever wanted, that kiss, and his head spins. Hakyeon’s waist, when he runs his hands down Hakyeon’s side, is solid and very _there_ under his hands and he pulls him closer so they’re practically on top of each other. The spark that was there between them that day when they touched has exploded into flame, and Wonshik realises he doesn’t mind burning alive, not when it feels as sweet as this.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hakyeon whispers as he kisses his way along Wonshik’s jaw to nibble at his ear. “So, so beautiful.”

How many times has he heard that before, he wonders abstractly as he tips his head back and moans. How many times have his clients told him that—

Oh, god.

“Stop,” he mutters, but Hakyeon doesn’t hear him. “Hakyeon, stop!”

He—he can’t do this. He—Hakyeon doesn’t know what he is. He’s panting desperately as Hakyeon pulls away obligingly, worry in his eyes, but he can’t explain himself. How can he? Guilt hits him, solid as a brick, and he doesn’t have the words. If this was a one night stand he’d have no issues, he knows, but he _likes_ Hakyeon. Really likes him. And therein lies the rub—Hakyeon probably won’t take too kindly to his job (no one ever does), and so he should really just stop this before he gets too attached.

This is what he tells himself as he stands there, hands curled into fists in order to stop himself from touching Hakyeon again. He doesn’t know if he believes it, though.

“Get out,” he says, and takes a step back. He sees the hurt in Hakyeon’s eyes and closes his own so he doesn’t have to see it. “Hakyeon, seriously, get out—”

“I’m going,” Hakyeon replies, his voice as cold as ice.

And then with a slam of the door he’s gone, leaving Wonshik half-naked and shaking, the metallic taste of guilt heavy and unpalatable on his tongue.

//

How he makes it home is beyond him. He has vague memories of catching the bus, but they’re fleeting and slip through his hands, ghostly and flimsy. All he can think of how hurt Hakyeon had been, how he’d thought he’d misjudged the situation, how much Wonshik despises himself right now.

He doesn’t head to his room when he makes it back to his building. Instead he traipses to 304 and bangs on the door before sagging against it heavily. At least that’s a small consolation—Taekwoon is home, and he catches Wonshik when he opens the door. “What the fuck!” he yelps, straining under Wonshik’s weight. “Get off me! What’s wrong with you?”

Instead of answering, Wonshik just staggers over to Taekwoon’s bed and flops face-down into it, groaning loudly. “I fucked up.”

“What have you done now?” Taekwoon sighs, but he obligingly comes and lies down next to Wonshik, putting one hand on the small of his back in a misguided attempt to comfort.

It takes a while for Wonshik to get the words out. His face is burning with shame, even though he knows it doesn’t matter because it’s Taekwoon and as much as they tease each other there’s love there, running deep. “Hakyeon,” is all he says, and then bites his lip. “I fucked up really bad, Taekwoon.”

“Hakyeon?” Taekwoon’s voice is sharp all of a sudden. “Who’s Hakyeon?”

“You remember, that guy I told you about? I ran into him outside of class? The gorgeous one.”

“You never told me his name was Hakyeon.” Taekwoon huffs and strokes along Wonshik’s back. “But anyway. What happened? Did you finally get laid?”

Ignoring that jibe, Wonshik rolls over onto his back and flings a hand over his eyes. “We kissed…” he trails off and waits, digesting the words. “And I got freaked out and ran. I just couldn’t stop thinking about my clients. And there’s the way he looked at me when we first met… I don’t know. I just couldn’t… let myself get sucked in when I know it’s going to end in disaster. Because of what I do.”

He realises that he’s been listening to Taekwoon perhaps too much—he’s never felt this much shame over his job before. But then it’s never been an _issue_ like this before; he’s only been camming for just under a year, and his last relationship was over two years ago. He doesn’t even date, normally. But Hakyeon had sucked him in and now here he is, on the verge of tears, for _nothing_.

“Oh, Wonshik,” Taekwoon sighs, and it’s the most genuinely upset Wonshik has heard him in a while. “You’re an idiot, you know?”

He knows. “I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

The million-dollar question. “Move away and change my name?” He hears Taekwoon snort, and allows himself to smile. “I don’t know. I don’t… I feel like such an idiot. Fuck, Taekwoon. He’s so beautiful. It was like the stars aligned when we kissed. I don’t want to let him go, but I know I should.”

“It sounds to me like you shouldn't.”

“It sounds to me like you’re being irritating,” Wonshik counters, and Taekwoon snorts again. “Do you have any alcohol? I’ll deal with this shit tomorrow. Right now I just want to forget.”

He feels the bed depress and spring back as Taekwoon gets up, and then hears the clinking of a bottle. “It’s two in the afternoon,” he says, but presses a bottle into Wonshik’s hand anyway. “And you have your assessment to work on.”

“Shut up,” Wonshik tells him, unscrewing the cap on the bottle and raising it to his lips.

//

By four he’s well past tipsy into drunk, and realises that perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all, because the sun is still stubbornly refusing to set and it makes him feel like a lush. They’re on Taekwoon’s floor, passing a bottle back and forth between each other, hands intertwined in a comfortingly platonic way. “You know,” Taekwoon slurs apropos of nothing, “I have Hakyeon’s number. You should call him and, I don’t know, tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Wonshik asks, before sitting upright—the world spins, but he shakes his head to clear it. “Wait, how the hell do you have his number?”

Taekwoon tries smiling mysteriously, but that soon turns to yelps of alarm as Wonshik jumps on him, tickling the answer out of him with clumsy hands. “Get off me! Fuck, he was in one of my general education classes last year! Now just—”

At that Wonshik goes limp, allowing Taekwoon to push him away. This new knowledge has left him slightly breathless, and in his intoxicated state, he wants nothing more than to see Hakyeon again, to try and _explain_. If he just explains it, it will be fine, right? “Can I call him? I mean… should I?”

“I think you should,” Taekwoon says slowly, seriously, blinking. “The way you talk about him… You’re smitten.” He has trouble pronouncing that last word, but he manages. “Do you want it?”

Wonshik only hesitates for a moment. “Yes.”

Taekwoon reads out the number one digit at at time, very slowly, but it still takes them a lot of tries and a lot of giggling to get it inputted into Wonshik’s phone correctly. Without even waiting to consider whether this is really a good idea at all, he presses the green button to call and brings the phone to his ear, nibbling on his lip for good measure. Taekwoon leans over to fetch the bottle, and Wonshik stares at the line of his hip absentmindedly.

It rings once. It rings twice. It rings three times. On the fourth ring, Wonshik nearly hangs up, but then there’s a clattering noise and he rips the phone away from his ear only to hear—“Hello? Who’s this?”

“Hakyeon,” Wonshik says, and then blushes. “I mean, you’re Hakyeon. I’m Wonshik. Hello.”

There’s a long silence on Hakyeon’s end—it’s punctuated by Taekwoon rolling on the floor in mirth. He doesn’t even stop when Wonshik kicks him, which means he’s distracted when Hakyeon speaks again. He sounds cold and detached, and Wonshik wants to curl up in a ball and die. “Wonshik. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you,” he blurts. “I mean… About earlier.”

“Are you drunk?”

The volume on the phone is loud enough that Taekwoon hears this, and he starts laughing again. Wonshik shoots him a glare. “Yes, but can you just come over? I need to, I don’t know, explain myself. And, say sorry. I mean, I am sorry. But I want to do it properly. Please?”

Hakyeon sighs and mutters something that sounds like _...weak for pretty boys…_ and Wonshik’s heart skips a beat. “Alright. Where do you live?”

Wonshik gives him the address and, after hearing Hakyeon’s assurances that he’ll be over in an hour, hangs up and stares at the phone like he doesn’t know what it is. “What have I done?” he whispers in horror, looking up at Taekwoon. “Now I’ll have to talk to him.”

“Thank me later,” Taekwoon giggles, taking another swig of the bottle.

//

He’s back in his own room now; he’s tidied it as best he can, shoving the clothes that were piled on the floor under his bed and hoping the rest of it doesn’t look too horrible. He’s also sobering up unpleasantly fast, too, because he’d stopped drinking the moment he’d got off the phone to Hakyeon. He’s still slightly tipsy, which is probably the only thing that is stopping him from running so he doesn’t have to see Hakyeon again. He’s building this up in his head to be something more than it should be.

The knock on the door comes at nearly exactly an hour since the phone call, and he answers it apprehensively, peering around the door at Hakyeon. He’s changed clothes—he’s wearing a billowy t-shirt half tucked in to a pair of black skinny jeans, and Wonshik nearly starts drooling. _Shit_. This was a bad idea. “Come in,” he says politely, and stands aside so Hakyeon can do just that.

Hakyeon peers around Wonshik’s small room like he’s never seen the inside of student accommodation before, and if he’s Taekwoon’s age, maybe he hasn’t. Wonshik gestures to the desk and sits on the bed, folding his hands in his lap and trying to calm himself. He just needs to apologise and explain and they’ll be on their way. Except it’s not quite as easy as that, because Hakyeon is looking at him expectantly, and the words catch in his throat.

“I’m really sorry,” he says eventually, figuring it’s best to start with the hardest part. “I’m sorry to have… reacted so terribly. It’s nothing you did. I just have… a lot going on right now.” He runs a hand through his hair and wonders about how to even begin phrasing something like this. “I’m sorry.”

Hakyeon softens, sagging in the chair like Wonshik’s words have removed a tangible weight off his shoulders. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, and his hands twitch like he wants to reach out and give comfort. “I thought it might be something like that.” He pauses and struggles with his words for a moment. “You can tell me, you know. I’m a good listener.”

Looking into his face, open and kind, Wonshik thinks he just might be right. And he deserves nothing less than the truth, after all. He sighs and resists the urge to crawl underneath the blankets. “I wasn’t exactly truthful with you when I told you what I did for work.” He doesn’t notice how Hakyeon has frozen, going completely still. The next words are so hard to get out they nearly choke him, but he manages, somehow. “I’m… a camboy. Do you know what that is?”

Hakyeon nods. “Yeah,” he says faintly.

“That’s what I do. It pays the bills, and I actually enjoy it, which I know is probably fucked up… But I don’t care.” He shrugs. “Or at least I thought I didn’t. That’s why I… freaked out. I didn’t think it was fair of you to get involved with me without knowing.”

Hakyeon’s reaction isn’t what Wonshik would be expecting, though. He gets up and moves to the bed, folding one leg underneath him as he settles next to Wonshik. And then he sighs and closes his eyes. “I know.”

Wonshik’s blood turns to ice and his whole world shifts on its axis. “What?”

“I watched your stream once.” His voice is so faint it sounds like he’s fading away entirely. “You weren’t even doing anything lewd, at the time. You were just lounging around in your boxers, listening to music and chatting with people. That’s how I recognised you that first day… your tattoos.”

To think that Wonshik took every care in the world to cover his face—he always kept his camera aimed below the neck, was always hyper-vigilant about that—and this is what turns out to be his undoing. “My tattoos?” he echoes faintly, feeling things click into place. Hakyeon _had_ been looking at him strangely that first day.

“Not many people have a YOLO tattoo, Wonshik,” Hakyeon says with a weak smile. “I saw it peeking out of your shirt. And then in class, I knew. It all matched.”

For a moment they fall silent. Wonshik turns this over in his head. The initial panic of someone he knows finding his stream fades, although he does struggle with the urge to run for a moment. What’s left is… nothing. Or nothing negative, anyway. If he’s in the wrong for streaming, Hakyeon’s equally in the wrong for having watched him, but there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it puts them on equal footing. “I don’t know whether to be offended because you didn’t tip me or because you only watched once,” he says eventually, watching Hakyeon’s face for his reaction.

Hakyeon looks at him, startled, but when he sees Wonshik is poking fun he relaxes and laughs—and it transforms him in such a beautiful way. “Don’t!” he groans, and flops forward so his head is on Wonshik’s shoulder. “Next time I’ll tip, ok?”

“It better be a big one,” Wonshik says suggestively, his hand coming up to rest on Hakyeon’s head. His hair is silky-smooth and fine under his fingertips and he strokes it gently, enjoying the sensation.

It had been a lewd joke, but when Hakyeon shifts so they’re face to face, he realises that tension is back again—it’s thick and suffocating and he’s terrified. “Are you sure we’re good?” he asks, doubtfully, because what a rollercoaster this has been.

“More than good,” Hakyeon says with a lopsided smile, and pulls Wonshik in for a kiss.

This time there’s no hesitation, no doubts—well, there’s one, and that’s that Wonshik sure hopes Taekwoon isn’t listening from next door—and nothing but the two of them. They kiss slowly and languidly, exploring each other. Wonshik groans when Hakyeon’s teeth graze his lower lip, and when he twists his hands in the fabric of Hakyeon’s shirt to pull him closer he feels him stiffen and inhale raggedly. They strip each other slowly, laughing; Wonshik has no surprises, but he drinks in the sight of Hakyeon’s golden skin when he takes his shirt off.

“How do you want to do this?” Hakyeon whispers in his ear, and Wonshik’s mind races with the possibilities.

“Um,” he says, and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Hakyeon—Hakyeon _shirtless_ —in front of him is too distracting. “Fuck me?”

Crude, but he gets the point across, and Hakyeon’s eyes widen before he grins, somewhat devilishly. “As you wish,” he murmurs, and pushes Wonshik down on the bed.

They wriggle out of their jeans and take each other in for a long moment; Hakyeon is all miles of smooth, tanned skin, and the way their legs tangle together just looks so right that he has to stop and look at that for a moment. Hakyeon’s hard and when they shift closer their cocks brush, sending a bolt of electricity up his spine—he hisses, and Hakyeon’s eyes brighten, and before he can even move Hakyeon reaches down between them and curls one hand around both their cocks. The sensation—and the sight of it—is like nothing Wonshik’s ever felt before, although he suspects that’s because he’s never felt like this about anyone. Hakyeon just watches him, enjoying every sound he milks from Wonshik, grinning when Wonshik groans and begs for a reprieve.

“I’m not going to get tired of this for a long while,” Hakyeon warns into the skin of Wonshik’s neck, grazing his teeth along the skin there.

“Yeah? Me neither,” Wonshik replies breathlessly, flipping them over with ease so he’s looming over Hakyeon, grinning widely.

He kisses his way down Hakyeon’s torso, taking his time—he laughs when Hakyeon grabs his hair and pulls gently, a wordless plea to go faster, one he ignores—until he reaches Hakyeon’s cock. He licks a stripe up the length of it before sucking lightly on the head, looking up at Hakyeon through his eyelashes. That does the trick; he groans and arches his back, trying to thrust into Wonshik’s mouth and failing. He looks so gorgeous as he does it, though, that Wonshik keeps teasing him, somehow unable to stop. In fact he doesn’t stop until Hakyeon is leaking precome and he’s twisting his fingers in Wonshik’s sheets, face red and sweaty.

“Wonshik,” he mutters, and Wonshik looks up from where he’s flattening his tongue against the underside of the head of Hakyeon’s dick. “I don’t want your mouth anymore. Come here.”

Wonshik does as he’s told, crawling back up the length of Hakyeon’s body to kiss him again. “There’s lube in the bedside drawer,” he whispers.

Hakyeon fetches it, squinting at the use-by date and dodging when Wonshik swats at him, laughing. This is the first time they’re doing this, but Wonshik has never felt more comfortable in his life—it’s like he and Hakyeon have known each other forever. “Lie on your front,” he instructs, and Wonshik obeys, a little thrill running through him. “Spread your legs.”

It’s been a while—longer than a while, if he’s honest with himself—and so he grits his teeth when Hakyeon slides a finger in him. But if he has to guess, this isn’t Hakyeon’s first rodeo either, so he just waits as Wonshik relaxes around him, whispering sweet nothings as he does. It’s torturous. It’s torturous and wonderful and intoxicating all at once, and when Hakyeon starts fingering him—slowly at first, but faster when Wonshik begs for it—he wonders if this is it, if this is what he was made for, if this is the height of pleasure. Before long Hakyeon is sliding three fingers in and out of him and Wonshik’s practically sobbing for more.

After a hurried exchange—“I don’t have condoms,” Wonshik whispers, to which Hakyeon winks and says, “I brought my own” and fetches them, grappling for his wallet with slick hands—Hakyeon rolls a condom down over his cock and lines himself up with Wonshik’s entrance. He waits for Wonshik to whine and wiggle his hips, drawing it out just that _little_ bit more, before he pushes in slowly.

The slight pain at the stretch is overtaken by the pleasure, and when he is all the way in they just both breathe. Wonshik has his eyes screwed shut, and while he can’t see Hakyeon he’d have to bet that he looks the same. “Christ,” he groans, and then grabs the sheets when Hakyeon starts thrusting into him. “Fuck, Hakyeon.”

“Oh,” Hakyeon says, but it’s more a moan than any real word. “You—saying my name—fuck, _Wonshik_.”

If it’s not Hakyeon saying his name like _that_ , breathless with the syllables catching in his throat, it’s the way he grabs Wonshik’s hair as he fucks into him that thinks he’s maybe going to die in the best possible way. It’s not just the way Hakyeon is fucking him that’s so good—although he can’t really think straight thanks to that, so maybe it _is_ —but more the fact that this is _Hakyeon_ , that they have a connection that runs deeper than this, that this is just the natural conclusion of all that flirting. But then Hakyeon shifts the angle and he sees stars and all thoughts except for _fuck_ and _God_ and _Hakyeon_ fly out of his head.

He doesn’t even realise he’s speaking until Hakyeon claps a hand over his mouth and growls a warning to shut up. It’s a warning he barely even notices because he’s too busy trying to both push his hips back into Hakyeon and down into the mattress so he gets friction on his cock. He’s dangerously close, now; there’s a wonderful heat building in his belly and thighs and wherever Hakyeon touches him, and he winds his fingers in the sheets, the pleasure almost too much. “Hakyeon,” he gasps, and Hakyeon takes his hand away. “I’m gonna come—”

“Come for me,” Hakyeon mutters raggedly. “Come for me, Wonshik.”

The command proves too much and with a cry that trails off into a moan, Wonshik does, unable to hold back the wave of pleasure any longer. He doesn’t care that he’s coming into his sheets and he’ll have to change them later. He certainly doesn’t care how Taekwoon can probably hear them. All he cares about is Hakyeon, Hakyeon, Hakyeon, how fucking good he feels sliding in and out of him, how the pleasure washes over him and leaves him twitching and hoarse, and how, with a low groan of his name, Hakyeon comes too.

Hakyeon’s arms give way and he collapses on top of Wonshik, the both of them sticky and damp with sweat. Normally after sex Wonshik is the first to head to the shower—he hates the feel of sweat and come on him—but right now he doesn’t want to move. It’s Hakyeon, after all, and he somehow knows everything is different now.

“You okay?” Hakyeon whispers a few moments later, kissing him on the shoulder.

For the blasé nature of the question, Wonshik can sense the genuine concern in his words. “Dead,” he replies, and groans dramatically. “Killed by sex. Please read a nice eulogy at my funeral.”

“I’ll tell them all about how good you are in bed,” Hakyeon laughs, and pulls away.

Wonshik is vaguely aware of him pulling out and getting up, but he only cracks an eyelid open. He watches Hakyeon tie off the condom and put it in the bin before fixing his hair in the mirror—Wonshik laughs and he makes a face—before he comes back to bed, pulling Wonshik into his arms. They lie there like that for what feels like an eternity, just holding each other, not needing any words. It’s nice. It’s beyond nice, actually, but Wonshik can’t think of any other words to describe it. He’s floating on a wave of post-orgasm glow, and all he wants to do is stay here like this with Hakyeon forever, as absurd as that is.

“So, be honest,” he starts, and feels Hakyeon half-sit up. “Was it before or after I got naked in front of the whole class that you fell for me?”

Hakyeon laughs, and Wonshik can’t resist kissing him when he looks so happy like that. “After. Definitely after.”

Wonshik’s only halfway through getting his revenge—it had started off as him trying to find Hakyeon’s ticklish spots, but then Hakyeon had pulled him into a kiss and they’d got distracted—when there’s a banging at his door, and then one Jung Taekwoon starts shouting. “Wonshik! Are you done? Can you come out? I’m fucking starving.” He kicks the door and whines, not unlike a toddler. “Wonshik!”

“Who is that? He sounds familiar,” Hakyeon says, craning his head to look at the door.

Managing to bite back a smile, Wonshik slides off the bed and offers Hakyeon a hand. “That’s Taekwoon. Feel like taking care of my drunk best friend?”

Hakyeon takes the proffered hand and gets up (and even that movement is so graceful it leaves Wonshik breathless), stepping into Wonshik’s personal space and looping his arms around his waist. “Not really… But I’d do anything for you.”

“Just what I was hoping to hear.” Wonshik grins and closes the distance between them with a kiss, ignoring Taekwoon’s kicking, the joy in his heart filling the space between him and Hakyeon until there’s nothing left but them.

**Author's Note:**

> this was fun to write, even if I had to keep telling myself to shut up because I didn't want my poor translator to throttle me. I'm also, I'm told, the first non-russian-speaking author to participate which is really awesome. big thanks to Galya for letting me (and gently encouraging me) to participate, and to Ira—(seriously, she didn't have to but she did and also having works translated is so! cool! so ily bb), and to everyone else for helping out with admin things behind the scenes! I actually think I had the easiest job since all I had to do was write the damn thing; after that it was out of my hands LOL
> 
> i've wanted to write a camboy au for ages and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. hope you enjoyed!
> 
> title taken from a rammstein song (I'm so predictable I know) morgenstern (morningstar)—  
>  _mit dem Herzen sehen_  
>  _sie ist wunderschön_  
>  (to see with the heart she is simply beautiful)


End file.
